


Leap of faith (EN)

by Bebec



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Betaed, Blind Character, Blindness, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hell Trauma, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Hurt/Comfort, Just hear and talk with the Devil, Light Angst, Light and Darkness, Lucifer acting like a child, Post Reveal, Post-Season/Series 03, Relationship(s), The Very first Monster hidden in the dark, Translation, Tumblr Prompt, Tumblr: luciferprompts, Work In Progress, afraid of the dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-08-10 21:58:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16463105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bebec/pseuds/Bebec
Summary: Allow me to shed some light on this for you, brother. Once upon a time, there was an angel of Light; he was proud and guided by a desire of unique existence for himself. An angel to whom his brothers, sisters and Father had taken away his sight as a right penance for his faults – Prompt Tumblr.@luciferprompts:"What if the light bringer lost his sight, temporarily? (Perhaps he got injured in the eyes whilst in Chloe’s vicinity.) What happens next?"





	1. Unlighted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Navaros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Navaros/gifts), [Antarctic_Echoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antarctic_Echoes/gifts).
  * A translation of [Leap of Faith](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/428987) by Bebec. 



> This wasn't planned AT ALL !  
> One look to tumblr yesterday evening and--... *sigh. I couldn't let this prompt pass ! 
> 
> So here it is Navaros ;) As you asked me. Not beta-checked, though. Sorry for the possible mistakes. 
> 
> Enjoy !

**UNLIGHTED**

**~**

 

 

He hears something. 

It’s distant… it seems to be, but the distance stays short to reassure him. A few meters. Less than that. 

He hears that cry, that growl and freezes. 

He doesn’t freeze. He never freezes. And yet, here he is; not moving a muscle, not even daring to breathe. 

Because he can’t see. 

Everything is dark, unlighted. 

_ “What is this place?” _ he wonders and knows the answer, anyway. He knows, but can’t see. 

If he can’t see this place or the origin of that noise… it means that nothing of this is real, right? The air begins to freeze in his lungs; he hears another sound – the same as before, but much closer this time. 

He is cold. He never was before. 

_ “What is this place?” _

He repeats these few words in his head, hoping to see more clearly. He must see, he should see… Why can’t he?! 

He clings to the words with despair, clinging to this comforting fantasy; he feels it slide into the darkness that surrounds him, throwing him away in this terrible reality. 

His reality from now on. 

Alone, vulnerable… and blind. 

The origin of the growl knew his weakness long before he did, and it is now too close to him to give him even a tiny chance of survival. 

 

**-xXx-**

 

“Lucifer!  _ Luc—!  _ "

Something blows up in his ears. 

His ears are whistling. 

_ “LAPD! freeze!” _

Hurried steps before him. Behind him too. His ears are still whistling; this is so dreadful. 

Other explosions. Gunshots… These are gunshots. 

The Detective. Chloe…. Not safe. 

He can’t move his hands away from his eyes, totally paralyzed by the pain he’s feeling. He rubs his fingers against his eyelids. 

Bad idea… a terrible one. 

He opens his mouth to yell the Detective’s name. Why is he moaning? That’s not what he wants to do, that is n—

“Lucifer…  _ Oh God! _ ”

He hadn’t heard her coming back. He wants to say how relieved he is, but still those moans of pain…. 

“Man down! Biocorp station. Call an ambulance!  _ Hurry! _ ”

Hurry? 

He is fine, he just needs to— His eyelids are on fire, he can’t extinguish that fire inside his eyes. 

He jumps as he feels hands encircling his wrists. 

“Hey, easy there… easy, okay? It’s just me, Chloe.”

He stops another moan and manages to say some nonsensical syllables to her. 

“Help’s on the way, Lucifer. You’re gonna be fine.”

Her voice sounds tense. Anxious. 

Fine? It is not fine, not even close. He can’t get up; the pain is confining him to the ground. 

“…'ck my… F'ter…”

“What?”

He tries again, better.

“Fu— Fuck… my damn… Father, D—Detective…”

She laughs. Just a bit. He would like to do the same too. 

Her hands leave his wrists and rest on his, her fine fingers finding his to move them away from his tormented face. 

His heart is racing; this is a bad idea. He can’t tell why, but it is. 

“Look at me.”

Her hands keep moving his, which are still shaking with pain. 

This is a terrible idea. 

But he does as she said. 

His breathing quickens, his heart races inside his chest and he’s trembling more than before, almost convulsing on the floor. He can feel Chloe’s hands squeeze his to reassure him. It doesn’t work. 

He can’t—

He can’t—

_ No. _

“Lucifer? Wha—?”

_No. No… no,_ _no—!_

He abruptly moves away from her and feels his back hit something metallic. His own fingers brush his mouth, his nose and finally… his eyes. His fingers that tense around them. 

“I— I ca—… I can’t see!”

 

**_Tbc_ **


	2. That's the way it goes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I fast, for once? No?  
> Well, it's faster than usual! (Just found out the new translation mode on google - for chapters; it helped a lot.)
> 
> SO...  
> 1) Something changed since my first update; I've decided to place the story two months after the last episode from the 4th season. More angst, more talk, more fear... mooooore to write for me X) Writing something short? Something easy? Nope! Never able to do that, I think XDDD  
> 2) I'm looking for a beta for my horrible translations (Kitten has already so much things to do IRL and with her own writings - Love you so much :3) - Who's volunteer? Tell me if you're interested with a comments and I'll give you my twitter pseud. ;) 
> 
> Happy reading (well... maybe not^^')

**THAT’S THE WAY IT GOES**

**~**

“Open your eyes, please.”

“And there was the Light, mh?”

“Lucifer...“ says Chloe. 

He thought she was standing beside him the whole time, but her voice comes from elsewhere. Behind the idiot who asks for this useless ocular opening. He joins his hands together, annoyed. Annoyed at having to follow these medical directives,  annoyed to finally realise that he’s alone – no matter the tiny distance between he and she.

Well, there is nothing really surprising. Knowing that she is in the same room is, however.

Why is she staying here? With him?

He fears that the pain will explode again, but he submits. He has nothing better to do for now.

Dark. Pitch Black. 

Lucifer expects to be reprimanded by the detective for his lack of cooperation – It’s only natural from her to want to keep up appearances, isn’t it? It could come from this so-called specialist whom he imagines sit before him, according to the metallic grating noise that preceded his dim demands.

“Stay like you are,” asks the specialist. 

Did he open his eyes? He didn’t even feel his eyelids move.

“A desirable man with remarkable tastes?” replies Lucifer.

He hears the doctor cough in front of him when Chloe sighs a little further. A rub.... She probably crossed her arms over her chest.

“Lucifer— “

He is tempted for a brief moment to continue his teasing; just a little more to hear her voice, no matter how far she is from him, with that pinch of fear she can’t completely hide from him. It doesn’t matter... as long as she talks to him again.

As long as it maintains the semblance of an understanding between them both.

He sighs in turn and remains as still as possible, his annoyance not getting better. It gets worse when he feels a hand holding his chin without asking permission first. He leans back and he is closed to falling from the bed when his left hand meets  when  his left hands meets nothing except the void behind him . And then hands catch him tightly, pulling on the fabric of his shirt. These are not those of the doctor; they’re touching his neck - fine and soft. Softer than their owner’s voice.

“Careful!”

Chloe.

Why didn’t she let him fall? She’s touching him though; as she had touched him in the factory. Lucifer manages to put his hand on the metallic handrail folded against the side of the mattress and he sits up, giving her  an embarrassed grunt as an answer. He lifts his hand hesitantly to reach the place where his former partner’s seems to be.

But the moment does not last. Not enough.

She lets go of his shirt; he can feel it by the loosening of the fabric around his neck. He then hears a few steps.

She is still moving away from him.

“My apologies, Mr. Morningstar. I should have warned you…” says the specialist. 

“You should have, indeed.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “May I?”

“Do I really have a choice?”  

“He’s trying to help you, Lucifer,” says Chloe. 

He should agree to the good sense of her words of unequalled benevolence, but he thinks he has been patient enough during the last three hours - sitting in the ambulance and now on the bed, being touched without warning.   

He would have loved that on any other occasion, "visible" occasions, among others.

“And his help is so blinding with efficiency that I’m becoming blind myself!” he exclaims. “Oh no, wait a minute... I already am, am I not?”   

“Just... let him do what he needs to, okay?” she asks him.    

He senses Chloe’s eagerness in this last request; she wants to leave, to get away from him as much as it is possible to get away from a personified nightmare. And Lucifer can hardly pursue her in this state, that’s a fact.

An ideal respite for her, it would seem. 

No more monster waiting for her when she left her home, at the precinct or interfering without warning with one of her thorny investigation; which she had decided - not guided by the Holy Spirit this time but the stupid one instead – to solve alone, not even with the detective “douche” as backup.

He feels this point in his chest again; that thrusts even further after each new attempt to reconnect with her.

It is clear now that the Devil’s blindness is just as inefficient as the rest.

Another sigh and he nods briefly. He tries not to pay attention to this man so close to him; that’s difficult – his lukewarm breath is tickling his neck and his aftershave is undoubtedly lower-end. Whatever he’s doing to him - whatever it is - it doesn’t change his blindness; still dark, still alone in the dark.   

He holds a shiver back, instinctively squeezes his fingers on the smooth, cold metal of the bed.   

“Did I hurt you?”  

The doctor noticed. The detective might have, too.   

“No. I don’t feel much, to tell the truth,” admits Lucifer, relieved that the uncomfortable breath finally moves away from him.   

“Nothing at all?”  

Chloe doesn’t seem happy to hear it.

She should, though.

As for Lucifer, he doesn’t know what to say about it. That in comparison to the pain he had felt before... not feeling anything is a good thing, right?   

Right?

The doctor’s sigh augurs an unfortunate negation that makes him instantly tense on the bed.   

“Is that a bad sign?”

The Detective beat him to it ; although much less frank than he would have been. The question is burning on his lips, but he isn’t certain to look for a frank answer at this very moment.   

That sigh— that sigh  _ is  _ a bad sign.   

“It’s hard to say without first identifying the nature of the gas that was contained in these pipes,” explains the doctor. “Its nature may have temporarily desensitized the area around the eyes, or else—“

“Or else… what?”  

“I don’t wanna jump to such quick conclusions, not before I see the results from the lab,” he tells them. “Do you know what this company produced?” he asks.   

Lucifer doesn’t know if he asked this to him or to his former partner.   

How could he know that?!    

“Not really,” she admits reluctantly. “And they don’t seem ready to tell us anytime soon.”   

“I’d gladly offer you my skills, Detective, but I’m afraid that these are temporarily unavailable.”  

“We'll take care of it, Lucifer. We’re gonna find the answer and solve the case.” 

Quick answer. Abrupt. 

Right... what else did he expect?

“We’re gonna cover your eyes while waiting for more news. Do not rub them under any pretext; you would only make things worse...” the doctor warns him. 

“You really think that the situation could get worse, don’t you?” replies Lucifer.   

“If you want to see again someday, you'd better listen to me Mr. Morningstar.”   

Someday? What did he mean by ’someday’?

Noises in front of him; the metal that briefly scrapes the ground and a few heavier steps - the doctor finally gets up.   

“I'm gonna fill out the paperwork,” he informs them before leaving the room.  

Lucifer tenses on the bed; the open door lets through a myriad of sounds and voices that his ears hardly tolerate. Was the world so noisy before? It was not the last time. It was quite different... for some things. Each voice,  each shoe scuffing on the floor  are like razor blades brushing his ears. The discomfort adds to his irritation; it's unbearable.   

Then the door is closed. The silence comes back, almost complete. 

He hears his own breathing, and Chloe’s.   

The seconds pass without them sharing a word.

He waited for this moment for weeks, but now....

Chloe does not say anything either and he’s not totally surprised by that, to be honest. Why would she do this? Their moment in the factory was bound to be a "case of force majeure". How could she have left him like this and then explain to others her flight from a crime scene? Not to mention the failure to assist a person in danger.

Devil, murderer, monster... it doesn’t matter.

She had acted so only because she had no other choice.

But why does she stay in this room with him?

He knows he terrifies her; he repels her…. 

Is she afraid that he might try something against her, even in his state?

Possible, indeed.

Everything is possible now.

The point goes deeper, and Lucifer squeezes the handrail of the bed as hard as he can. He hears the young woman's breathing accelerate; just a bit, just enough for him to make a decision. For him to bear this vile role all the way through. 

She needs an excuse to leave; she wants to get out of this room.

Lucifer, although blind, still sees Chloe's horrified expression; it breaks through the darkness and it blinds him even more. This thought suffocates him immediately.

“Hm...” he clears his throat.

He can almost imagine the Detective tense when she hears him speak to her so directly.

“Detective, I— Would you be kind enough to bring me a glass of water?”

Time passes.

“The nurse will soon take care of your wounds,” she finally answers. 

She doesn’t want to turn her back on him.

Her fear hurts him as much as the gas that stole his sight. He knows, though; he has seen it the last few weeks. But hearing it, it’s—

Hearing is worse... much worse.

He insists, a kind smile on his lips.

“It won’t take long."

The idea of finally being alone in the darkness would almost prevent him from breathing, but nothing is more important than Chloe. Nothing else matters anymore. Monsters stay in the dark, after all. That’s the way it goes. 

A new way… an older one. 

This thought temporarily fades his smile and strengthens his grip on the handrail; it brings him back to a place where he doesn’t want to walk again or touch it with his mind - not even inadvertently.  

 He hears this grunt again... the very first of many.   

“Fine.”   

Chloe's voice quickly brings him back from the darkness and plunges him back into it, in a different way. Everything is always dark. Like before. Long before that.    

She continues, “I‘ll get you some water. Stay here.”

He will not move; not until she's out, not until she feels safe.

He tries to smile again, to give him some feeling of safety.

“Sure.”

He moves his hand behind his back, which is shaking against the cold metal. He doesn’t want her to interpret this emotion for another one - much more threatening and yet far from the truth. He will not hurt her.

No need; he who has already have.

The grating of the door is lost in the ghostly growls that are moving all around him; timeless, tireless. That's the beauty of darkness.

He doubts for a moment that the Detective is really gone; but - while he listens carefully - he notices that there is only his breathing in the room.   

Alone.

Finally.   

He waits a moment longer; waiting for his last hope to dry up in the dark, in the silence that dominates him like never before. A last hope, a tiny one. 

But the door stays closed.

This is too late; it cannot be otherwise, even if he has done everything in his power to put things right between them.

He is alone.

Alone in the dark.

That’s the way it goes. 

Lucifer stands up and places his feet on the ground. He barely takes hold of the handrail; his feet are uncooperative without his eyes to guide them. That’s a feeling he hates copiously, back now and then. He walks away from the bed, a few hesitant steps towards what he thinks being the back of the room, both arms outstretched in front of him.   

His right hand meets the wall and he moves his palm over its smooth texture.    

It is far enough from the window, far enough from the hall.   

A shrug and his wings unfurl in his back; indifferent to his blindness.   

No need to see the world to cross it from one end to the other.   

And Lux isn’t that far away.   

He can do it.   

He can do it again.   

**-** **xXx** **-**

His "landing” location wasn’t that simple. 

He had arrived on the balcony; Lucifer is sure of it. The wind in his back, the glass railing he hits with one of his wings while trying to keep his balance. He hears a snap; the glass breaking and its tiny pieces scattering on the ground when others are caught between his feathers.

He curses, hating his clumsiness and straightens his wings as much as he can; only able to plunge the other one still unharmed in the freezing water of the jacuzzi which he knows now to be just on his left. The speed of the movement pushes the water out of it, splashing the ground and Lucifer as he tries to remove them from the earthly plane without any other material damage or humiliations.

It didn’t work.

At least, is he the only witness of his actual shame.

Well, a “sensory” witness… at best. 

He wipes with the back of his hand, riding himself of the drops that keep running along his cheek; flinching when he inadvertently touches the corner of his eye.

The pain is much more present than before.

That’s strange.

The Detective isn’t here; shouldn’t it be the other way around? He had hoped a significative improvement in his state of health as soon as he would have been far from his vulnerability, but—

_ Nothing. _

He still doesn’t see anything.

His heartbeats are briefly faster in his chest at this sudden realization that he tries to muffle, taking a deep breath. 

This doesn’t mean anything. He's just left the Detective.... The healing can’t be that fast. 

It requires more time. 

More time, yes. 

He takes a step forward and feels his foot slip, taken away by treacherous water spread all over the ground. His back hits the floor with a muffled noise; hard, cold and wet.

“ _ Ugh! _  Bloody Hell!”

Lucifer doesn’t have time to mutter anything else that he hears another voice.

“Luci?”

This just keeps getting better…. 

A misfortune never comes one at a time. That’s the way it goes. 

“Ah, the sweet voice of Heaven!” he exclaims, leaning on his elbows.

“What’s going on with you?”

His brother’s steps sound near him; heavy and aggressive, it fits perfectly with his temper. 

“Can’t you see, brother? I’m meditating. You should try.”

"I am serious, Luci," says Amenadiel's voice above him.

“As I am. It's the perfect place to think about what's happening to me lately; that and the bar.”

He feels his brother's hands slip under one of his arms to help him to get back on his feet. He doesn’t fight him, suddenly exhausted to protest. 

“What are you doing here, Amenadiel? Already got bored of D ad?”

He releases himself from the embarrassing embrace and tries to guide himself with the wind to find the entrance to the penthouse.

Maybe on his left?

"I came to check on you, Luci,” he answers as Lucifer advances to what he thinks being the right direction. “Which seemed to be a good idea considering the place I just found you.”

He thinks he smells some alcoholic scents; it must be here…. 

_ “To check on me,” _ he repeats sarcastically. “Oh, dear brother, how thoughtful you are! It’s surprising, really! So much surprising that I don’t think you’re telling me the whole truth....”

“It is,” insists Amenadiel.

Lucifer touches the door leading to the living room and begins to walk faster, being guided by his memories and his sharp skills for alcohol. 

“It’s been weeks and weeks I try body and soul to put the pieces back together between me and the Detective and you only show up now, asking me how the Hell am I doing since you left.... Good timing!” exclaims Lucifer, resentful.  

“Put the pieces back together?”

“Don’t you know?” Lucifer turns to his brother, to his voice feigning surprise, actually. “You, who joined the feathered pricks in  **F** ather’s army....  _ You really don’t know?” _

He begins to laugh; a cold, enraged, exhausted laugh.

“I’ve been pretty busy, Luci— “ Amenadiel tries to explain.

But that just makes things worse. 

“Busy? So have I been! What a coincidence, hm? Wanna hear my fairytale?”

No negative or even affirmative answer. Lucifer is well beyond an authorization though.

He moves his hand in front of him, unfolding each of his fingers as he’s listing the last events. 

“Let's see... I first killed Cain after that thousand-year-old bastard tried to kill Chloe. It was only fair, if you ask me.... But not for our Father’s perfect vision that punished me by giving me back my devil face so that the Detective could enjoy the show! Then I tried for weeks to talk to her and didn’t succeed! Even though my blindness might have been helpful….”

“Your blindness?” suddenly repeats his brother.

“What? Don’t you  _ see _ it?” Lucifer replies, turning around.

His hands rest on a flat surface; marble.

Perfect; just what he needed.

He starts looking for a drink and a bottle, breaking one or two by doing so. The pain is almost unbearable now. That should have healed by now.... Why was he still tormented like this?

“For G— Let me take a look!” asks Amenadiel - pulling him by the arm.

“Why do you care? So that you’ll be able to give a complete statement to Dad?”

It's obvious now.

How could he have missed this?

“I don’t see what you’re t—”

“Come now, brother…” Lucifer interrupts him. “I'm not that stupid! You’ll tell Him that was well-played; predictable but well-played, indeed.” 

His hand is shaking around the bottle he has just grabbed.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple; F ather found a new way to punish me for killing a human being,” explains Lucifer. “Well,  _ new _ … so to speak. He’d already done this to me before, the blind-story.... And here you are, dashing with divinity, to see how far I’m falling!”

He lifts his glass.

“Here’s to your disgusting abnegation, brother!”

He feels his hand around his wrist, forcing him to lower his glass.

“As I already told you, this is not the purpose of my visit. And what do you mean by ‘ _ He’d already done this to me _ ’?”

Lucifer lets out an exclamation.

“You perfectly know what it means, Am'. You were there, like the others.”

It’s difficult for him to focus, the pain is piercing his skull, his chest.

“I don’t see w—"

“You don’t say! It’s the same for me!”

“Luci....”

He doesn’t know? Really? Why not after all; who else if not Lucifer would make the effort to remember? It was just all about a monster’s fall. 

He finally brings his glass to his lips. The alcohol is vigorous in his throat, but it doesn’t appease his thirst, nor the quick pace of his heart. His hands are shaking, his body too.... His whole body.

And now his voice.

“Allow me to shed some light on this for you, brother. Once upon a time, there was an angel of Light; he was proud and guided by a desire of unique existence for himself. An angel to whom his brothers, sisters and Father had taken away his sight as a right penance for his fault.”

He lets out a trembling and bitter exclamation.

“You have to admit that my point of view is much more poetic than human’s.”

“Lucifer, I—” starts Amenadiel; he seems surprised.

_ Surprised. _

“I should have more enjoyed the Light when it was close to hand,” continues Lucifer, anger shaking each of his words. “When it still could pierce the night… But Hell;  _ that _ night… it never needed Light to exist. Never.”

Time passes and the darkness holding his eyes is connected to the memory he had so deeply buried in his mind; they are suffocating, they’re keeping him there…. 

“Luci—“

“Go ahead, Amenadiel; go home and tell this to Father. Tell Him that the original monster is alone again in the dark; there’s no need to be so scared of me up there! I’m already inspiring it quite enough here on earth....”

He almost finished his glass when he hears wings hitting space and brushing time. When he finally finds himself alone; still unsatisfied, still trembling with rage and other things he could no longer bear. He puts his glass on the marbled bar, enduring the frantic beatings of his heart, his short breath, those sounds he no longer hears, and those he hears much too clearly. 

These sounds to which he joins his; this cry of rage carried by the glass he breaks with his hand.

This cry that follows him into this blind destruction of whatever crosses his path.

That’s the way it goes. 

 

_**Tbc** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three will come soon!  
> Let a comment/kudos/... if you liked it ;) 
> 
> And don't forget to tell me if you wanna help with my translations :D


	3. A door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!
> 
> Yeah, now is not the time yet but I won't be able to publish my christmas gift for you the 25th. So let's say that it's our "Special Christmas Lucifer", hm?
> 
> I wanted to thank you again for your support and your many comments on that story :)
> 
> This is a translation from french and it hadn't been beta-checked (I need to find a new beta for this). Sorry for the possible mistakes.
> 
> Enjoy!

**A DOOR**

**~**

 

"Lucifer?"

He lifts his head in surprise.

He has been sitting on the floor of his bedroom for so long that he is startled to hear another voice other than his. He doesn't know how long Amenadiel has been gone, that being said; since then his hands have stopped shaking to remain still against his thighs, since the blinding chaos strewed on every inch of his penthouse.

It could’ve be hours or minutes... There's no way to find out without "seeing", actually.

He shudders as he feels the cold air going under his shirt; he has thrown away his jacket somewhere before sitting here. And staying leaning against the bed frame - which he had tossed towards the glazed door some indefinable time ago - seems a better idea to him than moving again. His right shoulder chafes; something sharp i creating an annoying pressure against it. A piece of glass, maybe?

He feels them under his legs that are stretched out in front of him, just under the fabric of his pants that he knows have been  ruined by his outburst.

And now  he’s starting to hear voices…

Admittedly, the hearing could grow and then come to support a deficient eyesight. But this kind of phenomenon seems quite excessive, even for him.

"Lucifer, are you there?"

He frowns and regrets it immediately, his eyes devastated by invisible flames. It's worse than before... much worse. Lucifer stiffens and closes his fists on his thighs, unable to hold back a grunt.

"Lucifer?"

It's closer, on his left; near the stairs that lead to his room perhaps. He freezes, finally able to put a name to the voice.

It cannot be—

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" asks Chloe.

Lucifer lets out an exclamation of surprise and disdain, answering to her reflexively, " _ Very _ funny, Detective."

"Oh."

She stops talking and that's normal. This reaction is normal; much more normal than her presence here. Maybe his mind made her come here? That is possible, it will not make much difference, to be honest. Losing his mind and his eyesight the same day... it’s a fairly unlucky sum. An additional punishment, so to speak.

He’s not surprised to imagine her being here; by his side. The mind claims what the reality of this world denies it.

She has lived in his thoughts, his dreams, and his nightmares for a while now. He might even venture to say she’s an obsession.

No, he is not surprised.

Tired.

So tired…

And his eyes are burning again, digging into his skin, eating at his nerves....

Tired; exhausted, indeed.

Surprise really strikes him when he feels a hand wrapping around his wrist; this wrist guiding his own hand to the source of his torment. Soft. Fine fingers on his freezing skin.

Is this...

_ Real? _

"Don't you dare, Lucifer," the supposedly material hallucination of the Detective warns him. "You heard the doc—"

"D-Detective?" he mutters, frozen by her touch.

"What?" answers the voice, apparently anxious.

Lucifer doesn't dare to move; he would like to make sure of her presence - of a real human presence - by his side, he would like to touch her too. He doesn't move, though. This paralysis doesn't make sense, but it's the only thing to do. If he moved, just a bit... the fleeting hope of being able to renew the dialogue with the young woman would vanish as quickly as his sight. If he moved; and it turned out that she was here, really here....

Scaring her again would come down to very little.

"This… this is real, right?"

Stupid question.

A hallucination would necessarily go along with his present desire.

The hand lets go of him and he is alone again. He has always been alone.

A hallucination, of course it was one....

"The doctor told you not to touch your eyes," she says, and his breath hangs in his chest.

If he could have blinked, he would have done it. He wants to; a way like any other to certify what he hears, what he feels. What he  _ should _ have seen.

Real.

"At least you could have waited for proper treatment before running away like you did…" mumbles Chloe in front of him.

He can't hold back a bitter exclamation.

"Are you sure you want to lecture me about that, Detective?" he replies.

The astonishment, the hope, the desire to renew dialogue disappears into thin air. Anger possesses him even before he knew he was feeling that way. The Detective's reaction had been what it was supposed to be; predictable, normal, real.

The harsh reality that he thought he could deny.

Anybody else would have acted thus; everyone would have run away from him, from that face, that face in particular....

Facing the Devil.

_"No, you're not._ _Not to me…"_

Silence settles, heavy with blame, with resentment which he didn't know he had in him all this time.

Lucifer might have felt guilty about it, but well... Devil and guilt, that was a long story. Too long for the abrupt aborting of this one, of their story.

There are movements before him; he hears her clearing her throat.

"I had good reasons for acting so," she explains herself in an awkward tone.

Pieces of glass are squeaking slightly on the floor, but this is not his doing. Is she standing in front of him? Closer than he thought, but far, too far from him; this contact between them was only instinctive. Of course, it was... Like it had been in the factory, at the hospital.

She keeps her distance and there is nothing more normal about it.

"The same ones that led you to avoid me like the plague, I assume?"

He cannot help it and as everyone knows; the Devil is not one to fight against his nature. A source of conflict, a deceitful snake, an eater of desires.... How normal it is from him to blame human emotions, to blame a strictly human behaviour coming from a human being? Lucifer tried; he  _ really _ tried a more reasonable approach to Chloe.

Any attempt was doomed to fail.

What is the point in being polite now? What is the point in his state?

"Y—you... " the Detective tries to answer.

He notices some annoyance in her tone, just before the words die in her mouth, swallowed by a few silent breezes and glass squeaking under her feet.

"You were..." Chloe pauses. "You were…"

"…Me?" he helps her with a provocative smile that doesn't suffer from any joy.

"Different."

Lucifer slightly shakes his head. It's cooler outside; is the evening finally here? He shudders, still sitting on the ground and leans his head against the box springs.

"It depends on your point of view, Detective. Not on mine."

"You were," she repeats, stubborn. "And Marcus..."

Lucifer's wrath reaches a significant peak when she pronounced their former Lieutenant's name.

"Are you sad that you missed him while I didn't, hm?" he provokes her.

Where is his bottle? He could’ve sworn he’d put it next to his thigh, against what was left of the window.... He begins to touch the ground here and there, flinching as soon as his palm is too close to the sharp pieces of glass everywhere.

"You killed him."

A charge intimately tied to an excuse;  _ very _ intimately tied.

"I finished what you started."

"In cold blood."

"Reasonable self-defense, I would say," he tells her; still not finding his bottle. "That's what the inquiry commission concluded, by the way."

He's looking for his bottle with his left hand now.

"Marcus was a human being!"

Chloe's voice trembles.

"I beg to differ, Detective."

He removes his hand from the ground, cursing between his teeth against the wound that is burning his palm from side to side. His bottle was there; broken too, mingled with bits and pieces.

That sounds like him….

What a poetic vision.

Noise adds to his mumbled swear words; like drawers, closet doors open and closed one after the other. Lucifer doesn't have time to wonder before the noises stop; replaced by the light steps of his former partner in the room. Has she finally decided to leave? Apparently not; judging by her hand seizing his, which pulls it forward, softly.... The move is so soft that he doesn't even think to fight against it.

"This might hurt a little," warns him Chloe.

She presses something on his palm warmed up by his own blood; a sheet, a cloth, a towel that she probably found during the noisy search. He flinches and tries to move away from the additional irritation, but the Detective firmly holds his hand in hers.

"Stop acting like a child," she reprimands him immediately.

"That hurts," he mumbles.

"You should have thought about this before smashing your penthouse to pieces…."

Lucifer is silent.

It makes no sense to him.

Almost two months that she avoids him; not a word, not a look - some frightened, at best - not a single friendly gesture that could have suggested an improvement in the situation between them.  She had even gone so far as to ask their new lieutenant for a change of partner . She seemed so scared in his presence at the hospital....

She hates him, she fears him; it's clear.

So—

"Why are you here?" he finally asks her.

Chloe persists in tapping the cloth against his injured palm instead of answering. She sighs after a while.

"I was worried about you."

He would like to frown, he would so much like to see her; to understand what is hidden under this strange speech. If he could see her face... her eyes... she couldn't hide her profound fear of the monster sitting on the floor. Not through her eyes, her features, her gestures. But her voice was— sincere?

No.

No, no….

It cannot be.

"Why?" exclaims Lucifer, confused. "Why now? Nothing has changed, Detective; I am still what I am."

"I don't know…."

A quick admission followed with the loss of their proximity. She gets up again; the cloth slips on his lap and he takes it without thinking. He doesn't put it on the wound, he doesn't feel the need to do so; the pain is almost gone now. He only feels that distance, that bloody dark void all around him.

"Where are your bags?" the Detective suddenly asks.

Lucifer lifts his head.

"Above the wardrobe, next to the bathroom; why do you ask?"

He hears her rummage through his things, pulling some things onto the floor that he had broken a bit earlier for a totally forgotten rage. Curious, he uses the bed to get back on his feet, a few pieces of glass that hang on his clothes tinkle on the floor. He then turns towards the noise.

"Detective?"

"What's your preference - take a shower here or at my place?"

Lucifer lets a few seconds pass before answering; a minute, for sure. Two, actually.

"Y-Your place?" he repeats.

"Don't worry, it's okay; according to the doctor." Chloe reassures him. "It could help, actually. So…."

“I'm afraid I don't understand…"

She stops this noisy action.

"Y-you..." mutters Lucifer. " _ At your place _ , Detective?"

It's unreal. He doesn't understand a bloody thing here. Nothing at all.

"You can't stay alone; not like this, Lucifer," she says in answer.

Unreal.

"Why not? You haven't seemed to be bothered about me lately."

"I... I dunno."

Neither of them move; this is too far away from their sad reality to dare to break it.

"I have no idea," admits Chloe in a shaking whisper.

She still fears him; she fears so much about him that's stifling. And Lucifer fears her so much as well, for so many other reasons. Reasons, excuses, desires, punishments.... Hopes that he feels back in him; in the middle of the void, in the darkness that possesses him since.

It's a door.

A flickering light.

And he leaps into it; alone, feared, afraid....

"Well, in that case… my bathroom undoubtedly prevails on yours, Detective."

He leans headfirst into it.

 

**Tbc**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this gift ;)
> 
> Have a good time now with your friends/family/...
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year :3


	4. Changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a good move for translation here ! Don't know why so don't ask XD  
> Hope you'll enjoy !

**CHANGED**

**~**

 

"That's quite unfair...."

"Unfair?"

Lucifer keeps unbuttoning his shirt, slowly moving his hand from the top down on each button, playing with it for a moment between his fingers to find each gap and show a tad more unfairness in the bathroom. He has unbuttoned half of it, the fabric is loose up to his neck; he shivers - less than in his bedroom, but we can shiver for many reasons.

He can't tell which reason  it is now though.

"I'm not used to revealing my perfect body like this," he says, taking another button between his fingers. "It's  _ give and take _ , usually."

"I've seen you naked before."

True.

Still, he doesn't take any pleasure with this blind bodily offering to the Detective.

"The situation wasn't the same," Lucifer mutters, slowly pulling his shirt out of his pants.

She doesn't say a word. This oppressive silence scratches his skin; it's unbearable - and so much more now that he can no longer pretend to look away to keep the conversation going. To feed this emptiness firmly rooted between them. The silence lasts so long that Lucifer finally removes his shirt, just like his jacket a few hours earlier; he puts it on the sink he had brushed with his left hand as he came into the bathroom.

He flinches as he moves his wounded hand on his belt; even bandaged, the skin scratched from the splinters glass - still scattered here and there in his penthouse - doesn't appreciate the rigid and cold touch of the belt. It heats, burns, and it bothers him enough to slightly shake his fingers in the void; like he would want to relax the muscles of his hand.

Chloe's voice joins his noisy attempts to undo his belt buckle, "Let me help you with that...."

"I'm perfectly able to do it on my own, thank you."

His tone is sharp; led by the bitterness he's feeling for her pity. Isn't it what he wants? What he wanted? Anything but this... hate, this unchanging rejection? He can't say if the silence seems better than this selfless offer, her help born from the painful vision of his present handicap.

Handicap.

No, he's not. He's the Devil. He….

Lucifer takes a deep breath, his hands still busy undoing his belt.

"My apologies, Detective. I didn't mean to…"

"It's fine."

Her response is as fast as his was hurtful.

The silence comes back; filled with everything he would like to say, anything she might dare to ask him. There's nothing to hear, nothing more than Chloe's awkward throat clearings and the jingling of the belt buckle against the leather. He finally lets go of his pants and  and adds more nudity to the already deeply uncomfortable situation . Lucifer does know how to strip, but his blindness makes things difficult; the movement quickly becomes delicate and threatens his balance. He stops breathing as he feels the Detective's fingers pressing against his shoulders to steady him - she commands her help with a brief touch on his skin. Hers is...  _ warm _ . She rubs her thumb at the end of his shoulder, like a reflex, a completely unintentional caress to which she's barely aware.

He's not.

It wasn't the first time she had done this. He had felt it too; that night…

_ " _ _ No, you're not... Not to me." _

"You're shivering," she says, her hand moving along his shoulders, then replaced with void. "We should hurry a bit.... Won't take you long to turn into an ice cube."

Her joke falls flat, of course. Because he doesn't understand her behaviour, because she senses her joke as a possible truth.

"Can—"

She looks for a proper way to say this stupid thought like something meaningful, deeper than it really is.

"Can you—?"

"...Turn me into an ice cube? I'm the bloody Devil, not the  _ Disney Frozen  _ silly goose that your offspring loves so much!" he retorts, shaking one foot after another to take off his pants.

The fabric slips on the floor when he pushes it aside with his right foot - a light, soothing sound.

"But you... you can  _ change _ , right?"

He knows where she wants to go with this. Of course, he knows….

"I can."

"Why did you...  _ change _ ?"

"I didn't," answers Lucifer, looking for the edge of his boxer.

"I saw you!"

Chloe is upset; Lucifer can feel it; he can hear it in her way to rub the fabric of her clothes - again and again and again.... That agitation that never ends.

He sighs and, without warning, lowers the last fabric hiding him so far. Chloe gasps; she must enjoy the show he can no longer see, for so many unfair reasons. He stands up, still shivering, with a proud posture - powerful, intimidating, for sure; standing against her baseless accusations, without real understanding.

"I did not change," he repeats firmly. "Not me; that wasn't my decision."

He then turns around, trusting his memory to find the door of the shower stall and opens it enough to let himself in. He doesn't close it, not completely – refusing entry to the Detective, as the exit. He looks for the buttons he needs to open the welcome arrival of warm water into this cold void that keeps digging inside him. Why did he install such a complex system? The unsureness turns into total game of chance and Lucifer is suddenly sprayed with cool water, an abrupt wet touch against his skin, his eyelids that cannot tell if they should burn or simply break apart. He jumps and moves away from it, his back hits one of the walls of the shower stall when he does so.

" _ Blood—!" _

He moves his hand where he can, where it touches something. He lowers his palm against the glazed wall, down to the cold floor also hit by every drop of water; they're hitting his hand, his skin, his face that he can't protect. It's noisy, this water that's hitting everything around, that is pouring to the pipe network....

It doesn't last long; it's stopped by another hand that isn’t his.

"Immortal and stupid..." mutters the Detective's voice.

She didn't come in; he doesn't hear it that way. She just turned the system off and went back outside right after that - that's what he thinks he's hearing, besides the insult.

"I could do this!" he shouts, getting up, definitely frozen this time.

His skin is hard, stiff on his tired muscles. And these invisible needles made of ice that are attacking every inch of it is a terribly painful sensation. He can feel the few remaining drops of cold water running between the stiff creases of his skin that shivers as they pass and becomes stiffer.

"Right. Like  _ so many _ things...."

"Are we still arguing about the shower or—?"

"You could have shown me.  _ Before _ ," clarifies Chloe.

He sighs. He would have preferred to argue about the shower, really.

"That's what you really wanted? Even now?"

Now that she knew; now that she saw. Before, after, a few hours earlier, a few years, a few days.... Does it truly matter?

When they both knew, when she showed her reaction.

Would revealing himself at a different time have changed something?

Her guilty silence - reasonable, resentful, discouraging; the result remained the same – is enough, although the detective reluctantly says it aloud afterwards.

"N-No. No, I—.... Well, I don't know."

He hears her take a deep breath.

"I no longer know."

"S-so do I-I."

He begins to chatter without warning; this is so strange. He's shaking, shivering, but the cold persists, it dives into him and doesn't meet any kind of opposition. Lucifer crosses his hands and rubs his arms. The water spread under his palms turns into ashes and blood; a memory, a sticky blending that he dives into his freezing flesh with his nails while another growl grazes his spine.

_"_ _c_ ** _H_** _hke_ _d_ ** _A_** _te_ _p_ ** _H_** _e_ ** _A_** _-..."*_

"Look at you…."

Lucifer flinches, the growl vanishing with the Detective's anxious words.

"Your lips turned blue!"

"S-So?"

"So you're freezing to death," she says. "And you shouldn't, especially in your state."

He clings to her voice. She's here, with him. He's right here in this room. He rubs his palms more vigorously on his arms; water. It's just water....

"W-what are y-you do-doing?" he asks when he hears the creasing of fabric before him, where Chloe is probably standing.

"I don't want to wet my clothes."

"Why w-would they?"

He doesn't understand what she's doing and freezes when he hears the door of the shower stall open again. He shivers miserably with the air that rushes into it, with Chloe who joins him; her feet make a slight noise on the wet ground.

"You're n-not gonn—"

"It'll be easier if I help you," she interrupts him.

"But—"

"And if you stop arguing."

And he did.

He let her turn the system on and find the proper temperature, the proper flow - soothing, as the rain can be sometimes - without saying a word. His hands relax on his arms, his skin softens, but the chills remain. This isn't about the cold, not anymore; it's something else. He flinches, almost jumping in the air when Chloe's hand touches his left forearm.

"It's better when you're right under the water, y'know?"

Lucifer hesitates, he cannot be distracted, not from this touch.

"It won't hurt, I promise."

She takes his silence, his hesitation for fear, that he's afraid to feel another physical pain. He realizes he hasn't thought about the pain for a while, since she joined him under the shower. He's thinking, thinking, thinking... but doesn't ponder. Water touches his shoulders, flows between his shoulder blades; for a few slow steps towards the sound of her voice. It finally reaches his face; his forehead, his closed eyelids, and rushes into the darkness inside - painless, barely felt before it keeps going around his mouth, his chin....

Chloe is still holding him by the arm; he could make her let go of him and she wouldn't argue. He could. He doesn't move, though. He listens. He listens to the water touching her too, singing differently as soon as she seems to move a bit near him.

A song.

That's it; a song.

"Definitely unfair," he said suddenly.

"Mmh?"

"This isn't how I thought our very first... ritual ablution, that's all."

When the Detective would have spontaneously laughed or teased him, when nothing had changed yet; she just doesn't. Nothing sonorous, nothing Lucifer can actually feel.

The silence.

The imagination shattered by the yoke of the nightmare.

_ Changed. _

It remai _ ns  _ quiet until Lucifer finishes washing himself, constantly wondering if the Detective had enjoyed the show all along or if she had just turned away from him, just rejected this vision of normality. Then her voice pierces through the darkness;

"Turn around."

"Turn—?"

"Your back; you can't wash it without some help."

"I've always done it," replies Lucifer.

"You haven't always been blind, have you?"

He squeezes the washcloth so hard in his hand that the soap is foaming much more than necessary; it's like bubbles, dozens and dozens of bubbles rolling on his skin, sometimes splintering all over his clenched fingers.

"Fine."

And he turns his back to her. His hands find the glazed wall of the shower stall; damp, warm like the rest. He waits, well aware - even blind - of Chloe's gaze on his back. She must have seen it when he went into the shower, and perhaps once or twice since, between two soapy blind gestures from him.

She wants to see  _ more. _

And so he waits.

He waits for seconds, and still others without complaining about her slowness or her new silence, without complaining about the stifling atmosphere around them, the soap that slips between his toes, the water that keeps flowing. Again and again, and again....

He is waiting.

He waits and welcomes her fingers, her two shy fingers resting on the line of his right shoulder blade, with a long sigh.

"Your scars...."

His forehead rests against the glazed wall, he moves away from it and nods.

"Gone."

His own voice is just a breath that the water could almost stifle with its quiet presence. But Chloe heard him; he knows it.

Her fingers go down a little, stop and run once more along his invisible muscles, changed.

"White."

Just one word. A word, a question, a memory, an epiphany perhaps.

Lucifer stays still, leaning against the wall, he doesn't turn around, doesn't nod; he's waiting. He's waiting for her fingers to stop shaking against his skin, to stop feeling what he's feeling now.

" _ White..."  _ the Detective repeats, like a robot. "They're white."

What can he answer to that?

This isn't what she needs, this isn't what she wants; not now. Something in her voice, in that trembling touch holds him back. Emotion is eating him up as much as it is holding him back to act, to say, to explain.

He hears her making a sound; a muffled cry, tears she's trying to hold back too....

Or is it her breathing?

Her fingers disappear from his back and the door opens with a snap.

He hears her stepping back hurriedly, he hears the washcloth soaked in soap falling with a muffled noise right behind him; it grazes one of his heels. He doesn't move, like the washcloth.

"I-I need some air...."

Chloe manages to say these few words, between two panicked inhalations, before her footsteps echo on the wet ground, as they move away from him. Moving away from the water, from the white soap that is still lathering at his feet, which still reacts to this supposedly pleasant stream; even after she crossed the threshold of the bathroom and closed the door with an equally sharp, panicked movement.

And Lucifer who doesn't react. Lucifer waiting.

Lucifer who is waiting until the soap definitively vanishes under the flow of this warm stream. He still hasn't washed his back, but it doesn't matter.

Soap cannot change much to the situation.

Nothing can change what already is.

 

_**Tbc** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little advice from youtube : "Lucifer// In the End (3x24)" Always 108 - It inspires me all the time !
> 
> *A divine louse (translated from Kmher)
> 
> Let a comment if you like ;)


	5. Backwards and forwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay here! 've been a lot busy with the NanoWriMo Camp last month. Now that it's over, I just want to translate and write, and translate, and write... XD  
> A big thank you to my nex and really talented beta (as a talented writer - go check her stuff!) Kay_Kat. You're really help me to improve my English :)  
> And thank you again for your support, guys! :D
> 
> Enjoy!

5

~

**BACKWARDS AND FORWARDS**

 

 

Feeling the difference between being awake and being asleep is such an easy thing, simple.

You just need to open your eyes.

See a change of setting happen, impose itself to your gaze, firmly stand in front of it. In front of those sleepy eyes.

The eyes... Everything's in the eyes.

"Lucifer?"

Everything is black; always black. No change of setting to guide him. There's only that voice calling him, the stiffness along his neck because he'd been slumped for too long against the car door. That and the unrelenting pain around these much-needed eyes.

Pain is a pretty good alternative.

Coming back into the real world remains difficult. Lucifer shudders against the door and lifts his head off the window. The cold touch of it misses him already; it's not the best place to sleep, but he can't wait to lie back against it again. Back into the darkness, an unfathomable darkness, in which he will not be aware.

"--at?"

"Since when haven't you slept?"

He lets a moment pass, still half-slumped against his stiff pillow.

"Are you really waking me up to ask me if I'm getting enough sleep?"

The detective coughs nervously beside him.

"We're home."

He straightens up again, finally realizing that the car has indeed stopped. He no longer feels the continual vibration under his thighs. The drive had been shorter than he thought. That said, everything had taken a rather new turn lately. From when the detective made a damp escape to her stubbornness to take him home, whether she barely talked to him or not. From this drive walled up with silence to then ask him an absurd question once arrived at their destination.

The detective will never cease to surprise him, to act against any human rationality. Any divine as infernal rationality, though. It didn't change much from one plan to another.

Except for Chloe Jane Decker.

It's not that surprising if he wants to be honest. She's been the only one who has resisted his charms, the only one who manages to make him physically vulnerable, among other things…

They were _home_ , indeed. He no longer hears the nocturnal bustle in downtown, everything is calm outside; almost as quiet as it is inside the car. He misses the bustle too. Hearing and seeing the world come alive is very different. The buzz of laughs, of people running in the streets, the cries, the horn blasts...

An all new lullaby, like the rest.

Lucifer had been caught off guard, being defenceless against these sounds and loud movements outside. And his body reminds him that every second longer he stays inside this uncomfortable car. Only his Father knows why Chloe refused to drive his own car.

An exceptional drive like that couldn't be refused like she did.

He hears the driver's side door open and the detective removing her seat belt without another word coming out of her mouth. He doesn't talk either, just yawns for a second. He stays in his so uncomfortable seat to listen to his former partner open the trunk and close it a few moments later. Another lullaby he's surprised to like despite the situation. Between listening and seeing, the choice is simple.

Still...

Just listening can be nice.

Sometimes.

He jumped again when the door opens on his side, surprised to have fallen asleep again without any warning signal, surprised by the sudden emptiness against his aching shoulder, surprised by the firm hand that prevents him from falling.

"You need to sleep," says Chloe, removing her hand, assured that he could manage on his own.

"What I'd gladly do if you weren't waking me up all the time," he mumbles.

"You wanna sleep in the car ‘till tomorrow morning?"

Lucifer sighs, annoyed, and finally gets out of the car. His muscles barely obey him; he would almost be able to sleep on the floor if she asked him. Any horizontal surface would do the trick. That's all he needs; all he cares about now. The fear of the next day might be, of what the detective might decide later, it willingly shirks facing the fatigue that weighs as much on his mind as on his entire body.

He doesn't even protest when she helps him walk the short distance between them and the porch.

And that fact doesn't escape her.

"What was the last time you got a good night's sleep?"

"Well, that depends on what your idea of ‘a good night’s sleep’ is."

"Sleeping six hours without interruption, for instance. So?"

He thinks and finally shrugs, his left shoulder being more and more supported by Chloe. He can’t help it; he no longer controls his body. Nor what's coming out from his mouth.

"--Not sure… Two months?"

His cheek rubs her hair and he can't help but breathe in her presence, her support, her quiet help.

She smells good.

So good...

"--'issed this," he murmurs, his lips brushing her hair.

"Missed? Missed what?"

"Mmh?"

She doesn't push further and keeps guiding him - pulling him as gently as possible would be more accurate - to the front door which remains invisible to him. Besides the detective's scent, Lucifer starts to feel other things. The plants which he knows being placed everywhere on the doorstep, the acrid smell of cooled tobacco; most likely cigarette butts left here and there on the floor.

When was the last time he had a smoke, by the way?

The answer is here, between this heavy torpor and the unchanging tension that can't stop fighting it. As much as the answer for the detective's irrational behavior. Both yet remain unreadable. Despite being still pulled by the arm **,** Lucifer slows down on his own unsteady pace after they climbed the few steps without any noticeable difficulty. Answer or not, the desire is here, and he has no reason to walk away from it.

"What are you doing?" she loses patience as he searches his pockets.

"--ant to smoke…"

Her hand stops his soon after he finally finds what he wanted and brings it to his lips.

Sounds annoyingly repetitive.

"That's not what you need at the moment. What you need now is some rest."

Lucifer lets out a mocking sound as he tries to escape from her grip, staggering a bit before standing upright.

"Since when do you worry about what I need?"

Chloe doesn't give him an answer; she chooses actions instead of words and pulls him by the arm again, more sharply this time. Grumbling against this treatment, Lucifer puts his yet unsmoked cigarette in his pocket. The key turns in the lock they walk into her apartment. Lucifer stops once they passed the front door, the detective lets go of him without arguing. She walks away from him and gets busy in the living room without a word - this living room that he has seen so much before.

A slight smell tickles his nose.

Vanilla, perhaps?

"Mhh... Chloe? Is that you?”

It doesn't take long for Lucifer to put a name to the male voice to his left, further away in the room. Some rubbing follows; clumsy movements of a body probably lying on his former partner's couch. A body and a voice that the Devil is surprised to hear there and while it's this late.

"Hey Dan. Yeah, it's me," answers the detective before Lucifer who remains frozen in front of the door.

"Wh-- Lucifer?!"

"Daniel," he greets him.

"Lucifer's going to sleep here tonight," Chloe explains quickly. "He shouldn't be alone."

"O--okay."

"How did it go with Trixie?"

Lucifer hears them walk away from him, whispering _je ne sais quoi_ for a minute or two. He also moves away from the door and lets his hand carefully discover for him this known environment, yet as invisible as the rest now. His fingers meet the arm of the couch on which the detective Douche had seemed to doze until then. He puts his hand on the fabric and sits on it. Their discreet talk seems to drag on.

Do they have so much to say about their spawn?

He wonders about her and listens, surprised to hear clearly her rhythmic breathing behind him; right where his memory places her bedroom. His hearing is evolving fast, much faster than before.

"--ou're sure about this?"

"Not really. I-It's complicated, Dan…"

"Is it, huh? Wasn't it you who asked me to avoid him as much as I c--"

Lucifer clenches his fists, the tip in his chest awakens without warning in intent to hurt him a little deeper. He doesn't listen to what follows, deep his thought, deep in the pain that goes on without any kind of struggle. He listens to nothing but his sensations, walks away from the open door that Chloe had let him hope for.

How stupid he was, how stupid he is...

Coming to her place was stupid.

It won't change anything.

He could leave; it wouldn't take him long, barely a second. He could disappear again, as he had done then, when her terrified gaze has been on him. In front of her gun pointed at him and her cry of fear when he had opened his mouth.

He could vanish into the shadows, leaving behind a single memory of his presence that glowing feather that wouldn't even touch him.

"Thanks again for keeping an eye on Trixie tonight, Dan."

Chloe got closer to him, from the couch.

"Come on; it was nothing. I'll take her tomorrow evening, okay?"

"Okay. I'll call you later."

"Sure."

Daniel is quiet now, he's looking at Lucifer; he can feel it. There's no other explanation for this sudden silence, is there? Being that quiet is one of the main reactions that a monster provokes in its victims. Although Daniel always saw him as an eccentric man who couldn't find better ways to spend time and money than near his ex-wife.

Until Charlotte's death.

She was no longer here, and neither was what Daniel might have thought of him.  

Everything was subject to change for each one of them.

Detective Espinoza's cold grudge against him was one among others. Lucifer couldn't be less affected by this, until now. Of course, things changed… but towards a known result. The monster of the fairy tale, the hated one by so many for some deaths, losses or random revelations; nothing really new for the Devil.

The silence that follows Daniel to the door confirms this feeling. No more words, but what could he have told him?

"Daniel still has hard feelings against me, I see," he said once the door was closed and the Douche's steps far enough outside.

"He... He's sad that you weren't with us at the funeral last week."

Chloe is embarrassed.

"I understand that my presence bothered many people lately. How rude I would have been if I'd show up in such circumstances. Although this whole memorial ritual is absurd."

"Absurd?"

She's cut to the quick; hit once more by a truth she cannot hear. Yet it should be simple with this silence that never leaves them, not even for a moment. Lucifer sighs and shifts from his seat, his body becomes so numb so fast; this exhaustion is bloody annoying.  

"The dead - and I mean here their soul - can neither hear you nor see you. One destination or the other; it's the same, Detective."

"Destination?" she repeats in a worried tone, maybe sincerely intrigued this time. "You mean…"

He waits for the end of her naively human presumptions for a few more seconds, finally getting that the detective has chosen vague gestures instead of real words. An unfortunate choice that she can't help tonight, it seems. Could he hope for an improvement at sunrise? When his monstrous aura would finally be softened by the world's light? Lucifer shakes his head, annoyed.

"You do realize that I can’t see you move, don't you?" he asks her, stinging.

"S-Sorry," she apologizes immediately, sounding sheepish. "You mean… t-the…"

Still this eternal silence.

Was she that scared of what circles around him, around the whole world, no matter that it denied it all along?

It was just words; just the truth.

"You won't end up in one or the other by simply saying it aloud, you know," says Lucifer.

The detective remains silent, frozen by fear as she had been for a few weeks. It is stupid to hope for better from her. Still, Lucifer is disappointed and struggles with pain, with that tip between his lungs.

"Is she downstairs?" she finally manages to ask him.

"Not this time; I'm sure."

"But— You're not one hundred percent sure, are you? I-I though th--"

"—That the Devil keeps that endless link with this unspeakable place?" he finishes coldly.

"I—"

Lucifer cuts the talk off; still monstrous, still distant.

"Weren't you determined to impose me some rest upon me, Detective?"

Some more embarrassed words follow, and Lucifer no longer bothers answering her; he lets himself be guided again, follows the detective's touch on his sleeve when she wraps her hand carefully around it. He keeps following her; one step after another, in the long corridor upstairs. It feels like a long walk, under his feet, surrounded by darkness. Surrounded by silence, noises - hers... and others that he had never paid much attention to when he saw clearly.

His footsteps are muffled by the carpet - white, if his memories are correct - the detective's breathing, the grating of a door moved by the wind.

A grating forward… Another backward.

Forward.

Backward.

That's a familiar movement.

_“you may think that’s what you are, but... I don’t see you that way.”_

Forward.

_"I-It's all true…"_

Backward.

Very familiar, indeed.

"We're here," Chloe says.

The grating increases; the door firmly held by his partner this time. The wind brushes his face; probably an open window. This is not the detective's bedroom. Why would she want him like this? Allowing his presence at her place was already absurd and he was gladly taking advantage of it. Chloe's doubts wouldn't last long, and this respite would end one day or another. No, it wasn't her bedroom. This one was too far from the stairs, too far from her offspring. Lucifer steps forward, using his hands to avoid hitting something between the corridor and the bedroom.

It’s slow, but without additional humiliation.

Past the threshold, the Devil smells some new fragrances. The print of a bestial ferocity that remains, which imposes itself on his sense of smell, it reminds someone.

"I don't think Maze will appreciate finding me in her bed; not this time, at least."

"She won't mind," Chloe reassures him. "She doesn’t longer live here anymore."

"Right. What was I thinking?"

"I didn'— I didn't choose this, I—" the detective says hastily and then stays quiet for a few seconds. "Her stuff was gone when— after..."

Still so difficult for her to state the facts, the truth.

Chloe coughs, he can feel her nervousness.

"She hasn't come back since."

"Why would she?" Lucifer mumbles.

If the Devil terrified her that much, what about a demon who has lived with her for so long, living so close to her daughter?

She clears her throat.

"She... She didn't contact you?" she asks quietly.  

A pitiable attempt.

"No."

"Why?"

He gives her no answer. He walks forward and stretches his hands a bit in the dark space in front of him, finally touching the edges of the bed. He goes around, lets his right hand run along the sheet that has been untouched for weeks and he sits down on it.

No one is speaking.

Neither he nor Chloe wishes to end this talk; this respite. Chloe could change her mind in the morning, even in a few hours, a few minutes. The time it will take out of this bedroom to return to her senses. And Lucifer feels his heartbeat racing in his chest, he hears more sounds than there really are around him. Those growls prowling around...  endlessly prowling around.

"Okay. Uh... I'm not far if- if you need me or—"

He feigns calm and begins to take off his shirt, smiling just enough to give the change.

"Good night, Detective."

One button, two... and she still hesitates to leave the bedroom. Lucifer blesses this hesitation as much as he curses it. He brushes the last button when she finally decides with a shy whisper.

"Goo-Good night."

One step, two...

Everything is black, always black.  

 

**\- xXx -**

 

_It won't last. No, no… Of course, it won't._

He repeats these few words; over and again, shaking, legs tightly pressed against his chest. He repeats them tirelessly, let them imprint his mind with each new growl... scream... roar...

There's no word for these sounds, he doesn't want to find one.

No need to define them so precisely, it should be over soon…

 _It won't last._ **_H_** _e's gonna bring me home..._ **_H_** _e would never leave me like this._

 **H** e will bring him back home; with his brothers, his sisters. Elsewhere than this unfathomable darkness. **H** e saw him risk the worst from the very first second **, H** e saw him fleeing in extremis that first growl of many. He shivers more, his wings slumped against his sides, heavy with exhaustion that will soon defeat him.

 **H** e will bring him back home.

 **H** e will now that he has no more way to escape, to blindly fly over this inhospitable moor that can't let purity live, nor the divine print inside him. He can't let go of this conviction as much as his fingers can't let go of the skin of his arms that can't warm him up. His light no longer can either; it is going weaker, running dry with every new breath, every particle of that stale air that comes inside him.

Infected. Vile. Invisible. Intolerable.

 _It won't last._ **_H_** _e's gonna come..._ **_H_** _e's--_

It freezes, both blind and on his guard.

 _"Ch_ ** _H_** _ke d_ ** _A_ ** _te ph_ ** _E_** _a!"_

He has a lump in his throat, he puts his hands on the dusty ground; this dust sticks to his moist palms.

"Dad? Michael?"

He knows that it cannot be one or the other; he doesn't recognize this intonation, nor even this language. He's just familiar to this vile thing in every syllable carried by the horrid winds of this unknown place, which remains dark... always dark.

A laugh, the ground beginning to quiver, a new strange threat moving around and making circles around him.

He feels it.

It's hard for him to breathe, his wings try to lift from the ground when he tries the same; they are shaky and not as threatening as he would like. Noises turn around, become wilder, grow in number all around him. He turns around too, over and over again, almost losing his balance several times.

_**H** e's gonna come for me... _

Samael repeats these words one last time; always convinced not to deserve this when the noises finally stop.

The noises stop and listen with delight his own helpless scream as fangs abruptly dig into his right wing.

 

~

**Tbc**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of change I know, but there'll be a real big talk between the two partners in the next chapter.  
> It would have been really to long if I hadn't cut here, sorry!  
> Let a comment !

**Author's Note:**

> So? How was it?  
> Sorry, it was pretty short, but I didn't want to write more than that for the first chapter. ^^  
> There will be several chapters; don't know how many yet. 
> 
> Let a comment/kudos/bookmark if you liked it. :3


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